


Kid

by heylifeitsemily



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Don't wanna tag them until they show up, Gen, will add more as story progresses - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2270319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heylifeitsemily/pseuds/heylifeitsemily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kid runs off to join an army, and as expected, gets a lot more than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so please, any criticism would be great! I just really wanted to explore the Blood Gulch crew and some choice mercs and rebels interacting with a kid. Will get to that eventually. And feedback or comments would be great!

It had been weeks since I’d last seen civilization. Maybe a month or so. I don’t really remember at this point.

At first, it had been _mildly_ difficult. Food was pretty scarce, but I had packed enough for two weeks. And I knew two weeks wasn’t nearly enough, but hey, I’d figured I would have found a food source by then. Berries, animals to hunt, something. Unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky.

I managed to make the food last three weeks, rationing it and snacking here and there, because I was still hopeful. The first day without it was easy, I suppose, in comparison to the next few. Before that, I’d never gone a day without food or water, if you could even call the ‘regular sustenance’ in Deinde food. And if I thought it was difficult with provisions, it was hell without them.

It seemed every resource was scarce, and with each passing day, my determination to continue waned. One of the few incisive memories I have was the slow progression of emotion.

Fear. It dawned on me that I was going to die out here. On my own. From malnutrition or dehydration, or something far more gruesome. I continued trekking like that for a couple days, in this perpetual state of waiting for death. Not quite ready for it, no, but just hoping it would come sooner rather than later. Scared but tranquil.

Then came panic. This was a mistake; I have to head back. I have to find food. I have to I have to I have to I have to I have to I

The mantra repeated itself endlessly, and I wanted to stop because my legs were on fire and my chest clenched with every breath and my stomach ached for something – anything – and if I stopped maybe I could just slip away and wake up somewhere else.

By the end of the fourth week, I’d found some berries and a lake. Hardly proper sustenance, I know, but I was desperate. Could’ve been poisonous and radioactive for all I cared. I set up camp there, the tent I’d brought and the sleeping bag weathered and with a couple holes, but still providing decent protection from the elements.

Something you don’t notice about Chorus in Deinde, or any of the cities I suppose, is the insane temperature range. During the first half the year there was a risk of heat stroke, and hypothermia during the second. Practically uninhabitable, unless you stayed in one of the units in the major settlements.

Eventually, I left my lake, filling up every canteen with water and berries, because even though my digestive system begged for something else, I had to be smart. Not that any of it was particularly smart or well-planned in the first place. Fact of the matter was that I couldn’t stay where I had ensconced forever.

When I woke up one night hearing voices, I was sure they were my own, mere fabrications my mind concocted to keep me sane. I spoke back to them, pleaded for relief, for safety, for strength, because hope was all I had left.

I remember movement, strong arms sweeping me up and carrying me. Flashes of armor and whispers telling me to rest, that I was going to be just fine. I would be taken care of.

The voices were kind, lacking the sinister quality I expected of Feds. There was no venom or threat of comeuppance in their words, just consolation and deep breaths. Promises of protection. I leaned into the chest of whoever was carrying my slight form, trying to stop myself from crying. I was going to die, because the Feds _would_ punish me for trying to flee. They would torture me, either until I died or until they felt like sending me back home. I could have run, could have at least tried to escape.

But death sounded oh so nice. It wouldn’t be quick, nor would it be painless. But anything to stop the insane ache that wove its way through every muscle, the griping pain that seized my stomach, the agony of fighting to stay conscious. I believed death had come then, as the pain eased and my vision grew dark. But again, I was mistaken.

About several things, actually.

The infirmary I woke up in was more of a cabin filled with cots, certainly not a Federation facility. I was almost relieved. Almost. The room was blindingly white, separate from that of the other patients. It was filled with gunshot victims, frenzied workers running around with eyes that once used to crinkle as they smiled. It seemed that so many ended up in their care, that hope was no longer worth holding on to. I pitied them.

They were still kind, despite the defeat they wore so clearly in their sagging postures and lightless smiles. They were patient, and as I told my story, why I had left to join their ranks, their pity for me grew. I had told them not to worry, that I wasn’t worthy of their pity. I have only myself to blame, I made my choices, and I didn’t regret them. I still don’t.

Skylar, the tall woman with the bloodshot eyes, had been affronted at the thought.

“Pity? Don’t be ridiculous. We all ran away, we all came here with a vision. You had it the worst out of most of us, but we don’t pity you. We sympathize.”

“Empathize,” Raymond corrected, patting my knee. “We empathize with you, kid.”

That became my name. _Kid_.

“You’re far too malnourished to do anything just yet, kid.”

“Kid, you don’t have your strength back. Rest.”

“You’re a pretty brave one, kid. Don’t let that go to your head.”

Every time I tried to sit up, I was immediately met with warm hands pushing me back down. I snapped, eventually.

“Goddammit Ray!” I shouted, pushing the man into the wall, the audible thump causing Skylar to wince. “I’m never gonna recover if you don’t let me off this damn cot! What the fuck would this be worth then? Why should I have left and gone through all this shit if I can’t help in this fucking war? WHY DOES IT MEAN ANYTHING?”

I cried for hours after. Apologizing, lashing out at them, apologizing again. Their pity for me grew to new heights, or rather, their empathy. I sobbed until I fell asleep, Skylar petting my hair as she told me not to be sorry, because I had nothing to be sorry for. We all have bad days.

I was there for a couple weeks, I think. No more breakdowns, just eating my meals and talking pleasantly with the nurses. They didn’t let me interact with the other patients, commander’s orders – something about sickness threatening my already shaky health. For the first time in a while, I did as my authority figure said.

On my last day, the commander, Barnett, had visited. He was the leader of the Rebels, the one that found me and brought me back to camp.

_“You are Brianne Emerson?” he says. His voice is still soft, gentle like I remembered. The authoritative quality I couldn’t find earlier was clearly noticeable, especially when he asked questions he already knew the answers to._

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Then I’m afraid you can’t stay.”_

_My fingers clutch the sheets, but I try to remain calm. That’s what makes a soldier – competency under pressure and shock, resilience in the face of unexpected outcomes or fear. I had to prove myself._

_“I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand.”_

_“Your parents are quite high up in the Federation ranks, Miss Emerson. Lots of power on their shoulders, and they are looking everywhere for you. Keeping you would only hurt our cause.”_

_Engaging the child in me. Smart, because she is still here, full of paralyzing fear and wondrous hope, missing her family but proud she has rebelled. She makes up more of me than I would like to admit._

_“Sir, with all due respect, I have no intention of returning.”_

_His grim expression remains, but he takes a moment to examine me, sizing me up. Finally, he meets my eyes again, and I feel my age. There is no condescension in his gaze, but I realize what a child I am, how young 13 really is._

_“Please, sir,” I say. “I can’t go back. I can’t pretend to support their ideas. I can’t stand by knowing what the Federation does to its citizens. I’m here to help,” a deep breath. “And I plan on doing so.”_

_“Look, kid,” and I already know what he’s going to say. “You’re too young. I have no problem concealing you from your parents. Matter of fact, I don’t give two shits about how they feel at the moment.”_

_“It just seemed to be the easiest way to get me to leave, appealing to my guilt,” I say. “Which is non-existent, I might add.” There’s a hint of a smile on his face, but he just nods in agreement._

_“Regardless of your lack of guilt, you’re a child, and I can’t allow you to fight in this war.”_

_“Sir, age is no guarantee of skill.”_

_“I agree wholeheartedly, but-”_

_“But nothing.” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I sigh, but refuse to break eye contact. “If I die in this war, it’s on me. If you don’t let me fight here, I’ll find another way. I promise.”_

_A silence stretches between us, but I hold my ground, meeting his calculating gaze._

_“You can stay,” he begins, voice low and modulated. “On one condition.”_

_“Anything,” I breathe._

_“You will have to adopt a new identity.”_

_“That’s all? Well that doesn’t seem too-”_

_“And you won’t be on any sort of battlefield.”_

_“Sir, I-I hope you will reconsider. I’ve been training, and I can,”_

_“You will be trained, soon. I have no idea what you’re capable of, what your strengths and weaknesses are. But you’re tough, kid. I’ll give you that.”_

The day I left, Skylar told me not to come back. I would see her in the mess hall, around the base, my quarters were even close to hers. But she told me, demanded really, that I stay away from the infirmary. Not in my wanderings, and certainly not on a stretcher.

I was still Brianne Emerson, because there wasn’t paperwork on our side of the war, no relatives to send letters to when one of us falls. Barnett insist that I go by Amy just to be safe, that I’m 17 rather than 13, that I shape up or ship out.

The first couple months were training. Every day, nights too, depending on who was patrolling. It was usually Esmond, who didn’t give a damn as long as I stayed quiet, and some nights it was Lex, who scolded me but with a smile in her voice. To them, being 17 still meant I was still young. Underage, reckless, naïve. They were right, of course. Far more than they knew.

_Breathe, bend forward at the hips, drop the elbows, cant your body to the target, wide stance, breathe, squeeze the trigger, focus on the target, both eyes open, breathe._

In an effort to keep things normal, I suppose, my fourteenth birthday was celebrated at the base as my eighteenth. The stash of alcohol was brought out and consumed sparingly, Barnett smiling for the first time in a long while. I refused anything given to me, went to bed as soon as they let me leave. I wanted to stay for hours, laughing and dancing, taking my goddamn helmet off. But I couldn’t.

Had to stay hidden, had to keep training.

Standard endurance, running and the like. In a word, painful.

Target Practice. Turns out I was a pretty good shot, but I’d been practicing in secret for a year and half already with anything I could get my hands on. This was different from the empty pistols and blanks though, the cool metal situating in my hands, the gunshot ringing in my ears. Hell of a lot realer, and much more finite.

Mess Hall. Food was a generous term, but no one was picky.

Melee weapons. Focus on edge weapons rather than blunt. While ultimately useful, I distanced myself from it. A blade was too personal, and at 14, the last thing I wanted was to truly feel responsible for someone’s death.

Ranged weapons. Cursed Lex up and down as the recoil hit, and apparently I kept focusing on the target rather than my own actions. But shit, I was good with a sniper rifle.

Practice Missions. Often went alright, minimal fake casualties.

Some days, when the sun was high and morale low, Rowland and Heart would sing a song or two. Soothing tones, unsettling lyrics, but calming overall. They were killed on an infiltration mission about four months after I arrived. Esmond wasn’t much of a singer, and neither was I, but we sung that day, for hours. Dirges for those we lost. _Am I transmitting? Is anyone listening?_

He died too, 3 weeks later. I sang again, wobbly and brittle. He was 26, with a love for botany so intense he spent most of patrol categorizing the species around camp, occasionally teaching me which were edible and which were not with eyes wide in fascination. I miss him, still.

A week after that, Barnett had me training with a team. To my surprise, a good team, filled with some of the best operatives we had. He told me I wouldn’t be doing any field work for a while, but the leader would be working with me personally.

Felix.

What an asshole.

If there was any reason to regret coming all this way and fighting for a spot at the front lines, it was Felix. He was arrogant, but he was a damn good mercenary, so I suppose that’s warranted. That pride didn’t make him rude or overly hard on me, but Christ was he sarcastic. Not to mention he thought he was the smartest person on the goddamn planet.

He was presumptuous, often wrong, and from day one he branded me as a mystery to be solved. Probably because ‘Amy’ didn’t say much about herself, redirected conversation to others, wasn’t too keen on discussing her past. ‘Amy’ kept her helmet during hand-to-hand combat training, even if it was just the two of them, because she was horribly disfigured and “Felix you just had dinner, don’t do that to yourself.” ‘Amy’ hated Felix with a fiery passion, because he was frustratingly cocky, digging his way under her skin.

Brianne loved him, because as annoying and vain as the prick was, he was funny. Somehow, he managed to be genuinely enjoyable company. Sure, he complained about how secretive I was, how I was taking up all his free time with my special training. But we made each other laugh, and that was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no one besides Barnett (who will return) and the nurses (who probably won't pop up again) knows that B/A is a kid. And Deinde is just the name I picked for the city she came from. It's latin, meaning 'thereafter' or 'from that place'. And all the other characters will be replaced by ones you know as time progresses. Anyway, should I post the next chapter?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, actual Felix this time. Mentions of Kimball.

“Too far to the left,” Felix chided. His voice was pleasant, usually, with just a lilt of his audible smile. I nodded, clenched my teeth, and threw another knife.

“Too far to the right.” Today, it was flat, and getting on my nerves. I ground my teeth, breathing deeply.

“I thought you said I wasn’t half bad at this,” I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes behind my helmet. “You said I was improving, didn’t you?”

"Yeah,” he said, taking a knife from me. “But that was last week, and today, you’re off. Watch.”

I sighed, rolling my shoulders. “You know I’ve only seen you throw it about 64 billion times, right?”

He didn’t laugh, and I didn’t expect him to. It was a strange contrast to his humorous demeanour, but he became solemn in combat situations or under frustration. His shoulders would hunch, his voice smooth unless he was shouting, the grip on his throwing knife just a little tenser.

“Focus.” He threw with practiced ease, the blade hitting the mark expertly. “Copy me.” He stepped back again, nodding towards me.

“Why couldn’t I practice with a ballistic knife? Or a dagger? Or throw it with the way they used to at carnivals and stuff? P-pr- what was it?”

“Because we’re using a bowie knife. It’s called ‘professional’, but it doesn’t matter, ‘cause we’re in combat, so we’re practicing _combat style_.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” I threw again, just half an inch off of where Felix’s knife hit. Smiling, I turned to him.

“Too far to the left.”

“I hate you.” He laughed at that, following me out of the training area and towards the bunks. We walked in silence, the sound of our footsteps in the grass filling the crisp air.

The sun had just set, a sense of disappointment working its way into my mind as I’d missed it for the third night in the row. Chorus was beautiful at sunset, and the base provided a gorgeous view of the deep oranges and hints of azure across the horizon. The temperature range was still ridiculous, frantically teetering between habitable and glacial as the sun disappeared, but the sum of all the scenery – the lush fauna swaying in the slight breeze, the fluorescent glow of the radioactive algae – was surprisingly idyllic.

The base had nothing on the borders of Deinde though, specifically a mile or so outside the city, with the sky painting a breath-taking backdrop to the skyscrapers. I had turned to look through the fence, paying my home one final farewell, a barely half-full pack resting on my shoulders. The moment of serenity before I took off running was another one of my vivid memories from the escape; the astounding beauty of a settlement I grew to hate, tears in my eyes as I breathed in the earthy air of the city borders.

Felix cracked his knuckles, the popping sound ripping me from my thoughts. I took a deep breath, just barely tasting the musky smell in the air. Another reason to dread the helmet, the filters dissipating the comforting scent of petrichor. Raw and ever present, despite the lack of precipitation. _Strange_.  

“How come it never rains?”

“Hmm?” He murmured, looking down at me.

“How many times has it rained in the last 10 years, would you say?” I skipped next to him, hands clasped behind my back.

“You ask oddly specific questions,” he said with a chuckle. “And I have absolutely no idea.”

“I’m gonna go with at least 13,” I said.

“Safe bet,” he mused. A beat and then, “hey, I wanna show you something.”

“You mean like a present? Thought all that hard-earned cash was going towards your retirement plan.”

He shook his head, grabbing my forearm with his free hand. “C’mon.”

I pushed my heels into the ground, smirking at his grunt of frustration. “Felix, I think it’s in my best interest to not go off into the darkness with a highly trained mercenary.”

“Amy, have I ever lied to you? Have I ever led you astray?” His grip remained, tense and threatening, but the way his shoulders sagged and the grin in his voice conveyed the humour hidden beneath his helmet. I sighed, going limp in his grasp.  
               

Some days, I wondered why I trusted Felix. He was right – he hadn’t failed me yet, and he was remarkably easy to get along with when he wasn’t purposely being an asshole. But as kind as he could be, as infallible as he was, he murdered on a regular basis. Not exactly the most trustworthy quality in someone. Most of the soldiers here grew reclusive as days went by, deeds executed by their own hands haunting them.

Yet Felix waved off death with almost instinctual ease, as if it meant nothing, and I suppose, in his mind, it did. His apathy was his coping method – If he told himself it meant nothing, then eventually he’d believe it.

My heart raced as he dragged me, turning corner after corner until I was entirely unsure where we were. Soon, we were moving uphill, climbing the side of the canyon until we reached flat ground again. Giving up on trying to figure out where the hell he was taking me, I focused on my feet. _Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, shit!_

I tumbled, rocks digging into my sides and knocking the air out of my chest. Felix laughed, a comforting yet dark sound, as he clambered down to me. I had fallen a little too close to the cliff’s edge for my liking, but the high ground overlooking the base was a good vantage point. I could see a Lieutenant in armor with pale blue accents doing patrols, a feminine gait paired with a strong posture. _Kimball._ She was part of our team, a kind disposition pairing well with her merciful nature on the battlefield. As far as I knew, anyway. I had never been on any actual missions, but I was told she leads the team when Felix is indisposed.

“You’re pathetic,” he deadpanned, lying down next to me. “I mean, you were literally looking at your feet, and you tripped.” I dusted myself off, crossing my legs and turning to him.

“Never said I was graceful, boss,” I sighed. “So why are we up here? Some sort of sniper training exercise?”

“No, nothing like that. Just a nice place where I can tell you some news.” Before I could ask, he put a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to lie down.

Okay, now if the sunset was beautiful, the night sky was stunning. We were out in the middle of nowhere, miles and miles from civilization, no contaminants in the air to upset the dizzying array of stars. I started naming constellations in my head, flashes of my dad telling me all the stories before I fell asleep. He would tuck me in, ruffle my hair, _my little astronomer._ When I was younger, space was this vast, uncharted adventure waiting to happen. Now, it was an escape from whatever this planet had become.

“Good news?”

“Depends on what side you look at it from,” he replied, “And I knew that you, being the hopeless romantic you are at heart – ”

“I am not,” I scoffed.

“Would love to hear this brilliant news under the stars with yours truly. So, drumroll please.”

I rolled my eyes but drummed my fingers against my stomach, finishing with a flourish.

"You, Amy, will be going on your very first mission tomorrow.”

 _No way._ “Seriously?” I sat up in excitement, forcing myself to sit still.

“Seriously.”

My stomach flipped, twiddling my thumbs as a nearly painful grin sat on my face. I would’ve hugged Felix if he hadn’t been lying down. Tomorrow, that’s what all this has built up to. Tomorrow. _Hold on._

“Wait,” I said, slow in realization. “ _Tomorrow?”_

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’.

“Tomorrow? What the hell, Felix?” I stood up, kicking his leg just hard enough to hurt. “I am going on my very first mission, and you waited until the night before to tell me?”

He didn’t look up at me, instead propping himself up on his elbows and gazing out over the canyon. “Didn’t want you to work yourself up.” He was quiet, slipping back into that ‘serious mode’. “It’ll be the entire team, and we’re just trying to get some information. You’re only going to guard the exit with Caplan.”

The euphoria faded slightly. My first mission and I was on the sidelines, with a soldier I barely knew. I should absolutely be guarding, because even if it’s usually uneventful, it’s simple. Simple, yet important, and I could still screw up colossally.  

“Things won’t get messy as long as you do what I say,” his voice stern. “You’ll get out of there fine.”

 Sitting up fully, he pulled off his helmet, gentle light from the stars reflected in his eerily dark irises. Despite his serious tone, his lip was quirked as though he was supressing a grin at some fond memory.

“So, it’s get in and get out? Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy type deal?”

“Exactly.”

Slowly, I laid down next to him, concentrating on keeping my hands from trembling – out of excitement or fear, I wasn’t sure which.

“Okay,” I breathed, “okay.” I’d done a complete 180 from a couple seconds ago, because it didn’t matter how many times I said okay; I was feeling anything but.

A beat, and then he turned to look down at me, vibrant eyes meeting the dull glow of my visor.

“What’s the word of the day?”

And just like that, all the anxiousness bubbling inside of me disappeared. Six words, and everything was back to normal, and I wasn’t venturing into the battlefield tomorrow. I was seven months younger, when my armor was still too big for my gaunt form.

_“… and I was voracious when I got here, y’know? Starving for weeks and then suddenly you’re presented with a feast, and you can’t eat more than a couple bites. And what’s more – “_

_“Did you just say ‘voracious’?”_

_We had been walking back from the mess hall, where I’d grabbed a plate of ‘food’ and told him I preferred to eat in my quarters. He had cocked his head, a similar inquisitive look to the one he wore currently, but hadn’t dwelled on it._

_Now, as he stopped dead in his tracks, it seemed that my vocabulary was more questionable than my eating habits._

_“Yeah, voracious. Very, very hungry,” I said slowly._

_“I know what it means,” he scoffed, beginning to walk again. “You just don’t say it in everyday conversation.”_

_“Why not?” I countered, happy to actually be having a real discussion with him. I tried to hide the skip in my step as I argued, “What else are words good for?”_

_His pace slowed almost imperceptibly as he thought for a moment. Shrugging, he replied, “They’re for communicating, but words like that don’t belong in normal communication. They’re for,” he motioned with his hands as though he were beckoning something towards him, “essays and papers.”_

_“Well, something tells me I won’t be writing too many essays in the foreseeable future.”_

_He let out a sound that almost resembled a laugh, placing his helmet back on._

_“However,” I said, “I will continue to expand your primitive vocabulary anyway.”_

_A real laugh this time, paired with a shake of the head._

_“With a word of the day?” he questioned, voice dripping with sarcasm._

_"Yep. Today’s word is voracious.” I grinned as he sighed, dropping me off at my quarters and heading off._

_It went on from there, I guess._

With his animated expression meeting mine, the reflection of the stars in his dark eyes, one word came to mind.

“Effervescent.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I tagged them, so I felt it's only fair I post a chapter with Felix and Kimball at least mentioned. Significantly shorter, I know, but the first one was mainly long for all the exposition and stuff. Again, please tell me how I'm doing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic attack warnings? Yeah, and just a bunch about blood.

I awoke to a peaceful silence, the dull glow of sunrise lighting up my room through the small glass window. 5:00 am, meaning I only got 4 and a half hours of sleep, and that Felix would arrive in about thirty minutes. Blood rushed to my head as I sat up, a satisfying crack sounding as I stretched my arms. The bed was still warm from my tossing and turning throughout the night, half my blankets strewn across the floor in my attempts to fall asleep. No idea what I dreamed about.

Sighing, I got up and placed my armor on, absentmindedly nibbling at some sort of protein bar I had grabbed last night.

Just over a year, that’s how long I’d been training for this. And it’s all going to be put to the test tomorrow, sort of. A couple more hours, and I would be fighting for my friends here, for the people I left behind, for what I believed in.

My thoughts passed for the inspirational bullshit you’d find in school pamphlets, but they were comforting. The eeriest sort of calm had settled, the unease from last night wading in the background of my mind as I laid back down on my cot, clad in armor that was finally starting to fit.

For a few moments, I laid there, staring at the ceiling, thumbs twiddling absentmindedly. My mind was teetering on the edge of a breakthrough, or so it felt, like I was waiting for something to happen. Something would change today.

The door to my quarters opened, a sliver of light appearing on the wall next to my head.

“Up and at ‘em, kid.”

I scrunched my noise in confusion and, because that was definitely not Felix’s voice. Sitting up tentatively, I saw a tall figure in tan armor with silver trim.

Caplan stood, as always, with a slight hunch, leaning in the doorframe with his assault rifle already in hand. Despite the fact that I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was pissed. Being paired the youngest of the squad couldn’t be that bad, but then again, he probably viewed it as babysitting.

 “Oh, hey,” I said, standing up and holstering my sniper rifle on my back, now shaky hands struggling to remain still as I gripped my magnum. I glanced at the bowie knife on the shelf, deciding against bringing it along. _Still too personal._

“You really gonna bring the sniper? We’re not going to be on high ground, y’know.”

Felix had neglected to mention that.

“Just in case,” I replied, the unease now having returned in full force.

He nodded, armor clunking as he plodded down the hall. There was a pause in his pace, clearly noticeable among the silent walls, but he kept walking.

I stood a moment longer, sending another fleeting glance at the knife. _No._

_***_

The ride in the jeep was infuriatingly quiet, as if everyone was on edge, engrossed in their thoughts. But, they couldn’t be worried. Because this was normal for them. This mission was in no way out of the ordinary – in fact, they’re probably bored by it, they aren’t even phased. _Yeah, that’s it._

Felix drove, whistling a familiar tune. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, helmet bobbing. Calm. And if Felix was calm, then I had no reason to worry.

The jeep lurched as we passed over yet another dip in the road, a rather undignified squeak escaping my throat. Face burning underneath the helmet, I slouched further. There was laughter from the jeep behind us, but its cheerful nature did nothing to stem the apprehension and embarrassment spreading through my limbs, a heavy anxiousness weighing down on my jittering fingers.

The blade of the knife was pinched between my thumb and forefinger, menacing glint shining against the dashboard. It was just a precaution, and I had no intention of using it. Glancing at Felix, I analyzed the armor for probably the 60th time, looking for vulnerabilities in design. Just above the sternum, inside of the elbow, side of the abdomen, back of the knee, outside of the ankle. The ankle. That would be a lot of blood. Scarlet, metallic, crusting on the armor as time passed. Pooling onto the floor, slowly. Or fast. Impossibly fast, like floodgates have been opened, washing over a valley, swallowing everything in sight.

I could feel my heartbeat pulse against the knife, a steady pounding in my ears. All that blood. What would it look like on the outside?

I took in a breath, and the dull light of the approaching sunrise was blinding, crimson dripping down the horizon. My eyes fluttered shut, but I could still smell it, the iron in my veins. Coursing so impossibly fast it was only a matter of time before a pipe burst and it spurted out onto the dashboard, onto the floor of the jeep, armor drenched in a river thick as honey.

The air left my lungs all too quickly, and I gasped again. A shallow inhale, a speedy exhale, and I could do nothing by breathe, the knife forgotten on the floor of the jeep. I folded in on myself, head between my knees, helmet on despite every instinct telling me to _breathe._ And it had to be going in, because I was trying so hard. But it couldn’t have been, because I was slipping further and further.

The jeep swerved, tires screeching, someone shaking my shoulder. A hand wandered toward the helmet, but I slapped it away, because it couldn’t all go wrong so fast.

Someone was whimpering, a broken, sickly sound but it was piercing. Had to be right next to me, it was so loud. I could feel it in my throat, reverberating in my chest. _Me_. _It’s me._

Voices were shouting, increasing in volume with each comment. Whoever shook my shoulders had backed off, and I shrunk further. _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry please stop I don’t know I don’t know please please please_

One final shout, and then two hands gently laid on my shoulders.

“Amy, just breathe. Okay? Listen to my voice, and just focus on breathing.”

I did just that. _In. 1234. Out. 123456. In. 1234…_

There was shuffling around me, quick arguments, and I ached for touch again as the hands abandoned my shoulders. The jeep began to move again, accelerating slowly, probably as not to startle me. The voice continued, gentle, soft, a sweet cadence to it. _Mellifluous._ Felix would hate that one.

The jeep came to a stop, and I finally opened my eyes, helmet blocking off some of my peripheral. Somewhere along the way we entered a forest of sorts, tall trees and a thick underbrush.

“What the hell was _that_?”

I flinched, looking towards my feet instead of facing Felix. The soothing voice had been stunned into silence, or perhaps they just wanted to stay out of it.

“Look at me,” he said, hissed in a way that sounded like he was desperately trying not to shout.

Rather than anger him further, I did as I was told, meeting the lifeless visor of his helmet. “What,” he began again, fist clenched, “was that?”

“I don’t know.” My voice was surprisingly level, and a flicker of pride formed, warming my stomach and fluttering through my arms. It was extinguished quickly however as Felix’s fist slammed against the dash, and I flinched again, awaiting a blow.

Before he could speak, the voice hushed him.

“If you keep up with that you’ll give away our position,” it reprimanded, and a reassuring hand squeezed my shoulder. I turned in my seat, met with the cobalt trimmed helmet of Kimball. “Everything is still fine, we lost a minute or so, tops. You didn’t jeopardize the mission, despite what Felix might think,” she nodded to him, signalling the end of her intervention.

He was playing with his knife again, shoulders tense as the others made their way to our vehicle. The finer details of the mission were discussed again, his usual elaborate hand gestures abandoned in favour of fiddling with the blade.

“… And Caplan, change of plan. You’ll be with Baker. Kimball, you stay with the kid.”

A swell of relief bubbled in my chest, but it dampened with the cold dismissal. _Kid._ He had never addressed me like that before, even upon hearing my age. Always my name, maybe out of respect.

Slowly, I picked up the knife at my feet, presenting the handle to him.

“I won’t be using this, sir.” There was no venom in my tone, no threat as I passed him the blade. He had every right to be angry with me, and I couldn’t give him another reason to. The blade set me off, it seemed.

He paused, cocking his head, but taking it nonetheless. I had no idea whether or not he understood the significance of the gesture, nor did I have time to ask. Felix and the other three left, stalking off in the direction of the base.

I sat perched in the driver’s seat, sniper rifle in hand. Kimball paced in silence, and we simply waited. There were no alarms, no sign that our intrusion had been noticed, and while I was grateful – because I promise, the last thing I wanted was for this mission to go horribly wrong – I was underwhelmed. Frankly, I was bored.

“How’re you feeling?” She continued to pace, scanning her surroundings with each movement of her head.

“Better,” I said.

“Good,” she responded, more to herself than me.

“Thank you,” I added, though it hardly conveyed the gratitude I felt. My fingers twitched around the trigger, helmet becoming a bit constraining again. “I’ve never really had a, um, attack like that before.”

“It happens,” she shrugged. Her shoulders shifted, pace hesitating before she took another step, “you don’t have to talk about it.”

“Thank you,” I repeated, if not liking, then at least appreciating Kimball more by each passing second.

The panic from earlier was still fresh, and while I could feel it, and likely tap into it without difficulty, it was separated somehow, as if I empathized with my own emotions more so than experiencing them. I swayed gently, listening to the soft crunch of leaves under Kimball’s feet.

I watched her too, the remarkable posture, the graceful strides; maybe she was a dancer before she joined the rebels. If it weren’t for that elegance, I would have assumed she was some kind of therapist, the way she jumped into the role of the caregiver – the comforter.

Her past was none of my business though, no matter how much the question burned in my chest. _But she is part of the team, and we should get to know each other, right? Two soldiers bonding? Essential for teamwork._

But, then again, I was ‘Amy’ to these people. Not Brianne, not a friend, just an ally. _Curiosity killed the cat._ She stopped, head slowly turning towards the base.

_But satisfaction brought it back._

Taking a deep breath, I parted my lips, unsure of how to phrase it. How do you ask for a life story? I sighed, consequences be damned.

“Kimball – “

A blaring sound shrouded the area, invasive and painful.

_Alarms._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Kimball! Also, I'm thinking of rewriting this later on as a story solely about Kimball, as I imagine that's what I lot of people thought it was going to be. Her running off to join the army, becoming leader, etc. But not right now. PLEASE CRITICIZE ME. I NEED TO LEARN HOW TO BECOME A BETTER WRITER.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bullet wounds and death. Sorry.

“Of course,” Kimball breathed, motioning for me to stay in the jeep. She raised her weapon, and I mimicked her, finger gently touching the trigger and bracing the stock against my shoulder. _In and out. In and out._

My hands trembled slightly, and the lack of vantage points between the trees was beginning to unnerve me. The awkward perch in the jeep left nowhere for the bipods to rest, and the shakiness of my grip was easily visible and equally disconcerting as I stared through the scope.

The alarms continued, seemingly increasing in volume as seconds passed. _In and out._    

I waited, eyes narrowed as I tried to focus on the sound of leaves crunching beneath boots, of laboured breaths, of some sign of movement.

The trees swayed lightly in the wind, rustling softly, parted branches revealing the sun above. It may have been my eyes or a trick of the light, but a glow had settled around Kimball’s figure. Her tense form clashed with the angelic radiance reflecting off her armor, the heavy artillery in her hands so out of place in contrast to the peaceful –

A painful hiss sounded to the left, and Caplan stumbled into the clearing, clutching his side. The meagre pressure his hand applied did nothing to stem the flow of blood – _in and out_ – dripping down his leg at a distressing rate. He took another step, tripping over his own feet and unsteady pace faltering even more.

I’m not sure how I ended up at his side, helping him move towards the jeep, but I must’ve gotten up at some point. I grunted as he shifted his weight, leaving me to support him. The leaves crunched loudly as we moved, staining red as we plodded over them. Caplan settled into the seat, adjusting his leg to put pressure on the wound, and immediately picked up his gun, aiming ahead.

“Here, let me – “ He stopped my hands, shooing me away.

“Kid, I’m fine. Pick up your gun and shoot the bastards.”

I hesitated for a moment, but then did as I was told, balancing the sniper as Baker and Nayar appeared. Uninjured, _good_.  Baker’s breathing sounded panicked, but a quick glance at Caplan seemed to calm him. They nodded to us, taking up aim next to Kimball wordlessly.

“Wait, where’s …” Nayar started, scanning the area. Her grip on the rifle tightened, and she began to move forward, back into the underbrush.

Baker’s hand caught her shoulder, yanking her backwards forcefully.

“But what about Ash,” Nayar continued, “she was right behind us! She – “

“She shows up or she doesn’t,” Baker said, not bothering to sugar-coat the situation. His voice was tight, his grip on her shoulder faltering as he stared ahead. Perhaps he was waiting too, hoping for a glimpse of her purple trimmed armor.

There was a pause, and the beginnings of an indignant response, but Nayar relented and moved back into the line. She sniffed, head high as she shifted her stance.

“Two more,” I stated.

Felix and Ash, and then we’d be out. My gaze flitted between the trees ahead and Caplan, desperately trying not to focus on the blood pooling on the seat. He mewled quietly – _in and out –_ an audible gulp sounding as he adjusted his grip.

“Two more,” he repeated.

Felix would be fine; I had no doubt. Of course he would be, he’s a mercenary – hell, he’s the _mercenary._ Too strong, too fast, too good to get hurt. He’d be here any minute, a cocksure grin hidden under his helmet, bloodstained knife balancing on the tip of his finger.

Ash, on the other hand…

_“How … do … you … do … that?” I choked out, bending over to catch my breath._

_Ash let out a joyous laugh, the infectious sound bubbling up to a crescendo as she extended a hand to me. I slapped it away, opting to lay down on the ground._

_“It’s a stamina thing,” she explained, leaning against the canyon wall. “You’ll have it down in no time.”_

_“You’re a liar,” I huffed, curling in on myself. “A prevaricating, deceitful, dishonest liar.” I sucked in another laboured breath, heart racing._

_“Did you just call me a liar in, like, four different ways?” Ash took off her helmet, a wave of platinum blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. Her smile was just as contagious, teeth flashing as she grinned. “Because, even for you Amy, that’s pretty impressive.”_

_“Not as impressive as running a mile in five minutes. How is that even physically possible?”_

_She slid down the wall, another burst of laughter escaping as I gulped for air._

_“Practice,” she said, rubbing my back gently. “And a bit of black magic.”_

_My giggle turned into a coughing fit, her hand patting my back firmly as the coughing grew worse. I sat up, head between my knees, eventually managing to breathe normally._

_“So you sold your soul to become a speed demon?” I joked._

_She smirked, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “It was worth it too, but I still can’t shoot worth a damn.” The sun was high in the sky, the light reflecting off her hair giving the impression of a halo._

_“You won’t need to,” I replied, “being faster than a speeding bullet and all.”_

_We sat for a few minutes, my heart rate slowly decreasing to reasonable levels as she talked about the weather, her younger sister, the mechanics of the gun she was designing._

_“It’s still in prototype stages, but it’ll be revolutionary when I’m done. I’m working on some kind of targeting system for people like me, but the initial blueprints are already done. If it works like it’s supposed to, it’ll be terrifying, but it’ll change the whole war.” She paused, glancing at me. “You aren’t interested in this at all, are you?”_

_I had been dozing, voice hoarse with fatigue as I spoke. “No, no, of course I am. It’s just, I’m tired, and Skylar was giving me another medical lesson last night, and then I was training with the magnum again.” I sat up straight, rolling my shoulders and clearing my throat. “It’s fascinating, but I’m low on sleep and just ran a mile next to the fastest girl on the planet. Teeny bit sleepy, as a result.”_

_She nudged my side as I slouched again, letting out a small ‘oomph’ at the jab. “In that case, we should head back before you pass out on me.”_

_She stood up, stretching and offering me a hand. I didn’t take it, instead lying down on the ground in resistance. “Amy, c’mon,” she chuckled, “let’s see if we can make it back in another five minutes.” She broke out in a light jog, looking back to find me, unsurprisingly, still lying on the ground._

_“You alright?” she asked, not bothering to stop running._

_“I’m gonna puke on you.”_

Speed. She could outrun anyone at camp, even after a full day of training. Her aim had gotten better, not that it was that bad to begin with, but she never did rely on her gun. That would be her saving grace, if she could weave and dodge all the way back to the jeep. _Unlikely._

The alarms had stopped, frantic shouting replacing the sirens as med teams ran to and fro, as reinforcements left their stations and barracks to defend the entrances. Caplan still sat up straight, trigger finger ready at any moment, but his limbs were shaking.

“Caplan, the blood loss – “

His trembling only got worse, voice far too wobbly as he shifted in the seat again. “ _Amy_ , I’m fine. Watch your peripheral.”

“Alright, now I know something’s wrong,” I countered, moving to get a better look at the wound. “Shit.”

The blood, glistening and fresh and a sickly shade of red, flowed quickly, his position only further exposing it to the air. _In and out._ It dripped down the side of the seat, stained his armor, and there was definitely enough that he should be unconscious. _How the fuck are you still standing?_

“How is it?” He choked out, breathing uneven. I paused, wishing I could read his face. His pulse was probably racing, skin cold, clammy, far too pale even for his fair complexion. I let out a slow breath.

“Spit it out,” he hissed.

“You’ve lost a pint, maybe two. Probably shattered your femur, definitely grazed your femoral artery. Frankly, I’m surprised you aren’t screaming in agony right now.” It came out in a rushed fashion, words crisp yet near incomprehensible as they rolled off my tongue.

He nodded quickly, a yelp of pain sounding from his mouth, and I winched in sympathy. He dropped his weapon, hands coming up to seize his helmet.

“You’ll be dizzy too, try to focus on one point in your vision,” I instructed, moving towards him.

“I can’t – I can’t feel it,” he managed, leaning back into the seat.

“Fuck, shock then. Lie down, raise your legs if you can.” I stood next to him, trying not to gag or shy away as I moved closer to the wound. My hand pressed into it, and I apologized as he let out a string of curses. I felt my pulse quicken, the panic from earlier threatening to return. _In and out._

Baker began to move towards us, but I held out my free hand, gesturing pointedly to the potential danger ahead. He hesitated, watching Caplan wearily as the wounded man attempted to follow my directions. I repeated the hand movement, silently thanking Kimball as she pulled Baker back to attention.

“Has your armor gone into lock?” I questioned, racking my mind for anything else that would help.

“Nah,” he spoke, voice even fainter than before. “Leave it.”

“I have to remove tight clothing. “ I argued, free hand beginning to remove the thigh piece.

He pushed me away weakly, whimpering as his own hand pressed down on the wound. “Just … stay on guard. I can apply pressure.”

Felix ran into the opening before I could speak, running to the driver’s seat without a word. He started the jeep, motioning for the others to follow suit. I wedged myself in the back next to Caplan’s trembling form, hands resting on top of his own.

“Felix, what are we – “

“We’re leaving! Now!” he barked at the others, the engine rumbling as the vehicle began to move. Caplan groaned at the sound, pressing his head back into the seat.

“Wait! Felix!” Nayar pleaded from the second jeep, voice high and panicked.

“What?” He snarled, head snapping around.

“What about Ash?”

Time froze for a moment, a stillness shrouding the entire forest as the question hit like a ton of bricks. The hush drew on and Nayar stiffened. _Ash_.

My gut twisted, a numbness settling over my limbs as the unspoken answer waded in the air.

I had never really understood the phrase ‘deafening silence’.

A distant explosion went off, shrieks filling the air. My eyes began to tear as an image formed in my mind –  of soldiers running, debris showering them as they moved frantically, tripping over corpses. A corpse in tan armor with purple trim, golden halo dimmed by the cloud of smoke.

Nayar’s shoulders fell, laboured breathing devolving into sobs.

Felix turned, shifting gears as the jeep accelerated slowly, the other following shortly after.

The forest soon turned back into desert, only Caplan’s breathing and Nayar’s tears standing out against the whistling of the wind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'll try to have the next chapter up in a couple of days, but between rewriting this (because it was shitty and had really repetitive sentence structure and I am so sorry) and school I haven't had the chance. Enjoy the rewritten version, which I think is at least a bit better.

He was still breathing; that was the important part. He might’ve been pale, barely able to talk, tan armor covered in crimson, but he was breathing. _For now_.

Skylar refused to let me inside, insisting I would only be a hindrance. I was almost offended, hadn’t I kept him alive until we got back? I had applied pressure to the wound, tended to him when he fell unconscious, steadied him in the moving jeep. He was barely stable, and Nayar would not stop crying. Sobbing. Wailing. Screaming.  “ _Ash!”_

Another wave of convulsions hit, piercing pain rattling my joints as I shook. My hands were still trembling, my head pulsing, but the worst of it had already passed. Her face was no longer plastered across my vision, a dazzlingly bright, crooked smile. Freckles dotting along her nose and arms.

The wind whistled shrill and penetrating, fierce breeze sending a shiver down my spine as the headache intensified again, _in and out._ My fists clenched as I ground my teeth.

It was more physical than emotional now, like my body was just a couple hours behind my mind.

Felix had been stoic the entire ride back. Hadn’t said a word, or offered consolation, hadn’t even bothered to turn around. He had departed with Kimball the moment we returned, still too busy to spare a glance. Somehow, it amplified the situation, as if the magnitude of what we’d lost wasn’t enough already.

But he had sat, nonchalant, not even concerned enough to check on Caplan. He actually had the nerve to ignore him, to be indifferent enough to abandon his dying teammate immediately upon our return. He could have at least _said_ something.

Maybe it didn’t faze him at all.

“Hey, kid.”

Raymond leaned against the outside of the infirmary building, a gloved hand running through the shock of black hair on his head. He looked older since I’d last seen him – eyes bloodshot, dark skin far too lined for someone in his mid-twenties.

_In and out._

“We’ve got him stabilized,” he said, tone even. “In the process of giving him a transfusion now, everything seems to be going well.”

He knelt down in front of me slowly, probably as not to startle me. He sighed, balancing on the balls of his feet, tired eyes desperately trying to get a read on me through the helmet.

“Would you like to – “

“No.” _In and out._ I shook my head, cursing silently at the dizziness blurring my vision. “Just treat him, Ray.”

I stood shakily, breathing heavier as the helmet had become far too confining _again._ My legs moved independently of thought, carrying me where they may.

Inside that building, Caplan laid motionless in a bed, an IV line pumping someone other poor sap’s blood into his arm, and they thought I’d want to see him. To see a soldier I barely knew, one I’d barely spoken more than a couple sentences too.

But, it wasn’t really the lack of familiarity, nor was it some sort of emotional revulsion to seeing a companion so broken. It didn’t matter that he was my teammate, that I’d spent hours just listening to him strain to breathe.

No, it was simpler. Much simpler.

I would never want to see anyone like that – lifeless in a cot, broken, defenceless. Struggling to stay awake in a disturbingly white room, machines beeping rhythmically to assure me that, yes, they were indeed attempting to keep this person alive. Who could possibly be comfortable, be reassured in an environment that constantly reminded you how fine the line was between existence and nothingness?

And they should’ve known, too. There had been multiple nights when insomnia wreaked havoc on the medical ward, Skylar stealing away to my quarters for a moment of peace. I was well enough at that point that I easily could’ve helped; in fact, I did eventually, after Skylar had given me a good number of lessons. But she knew how I felt about the whole ordeal.

It was different when you were working, assessing damage. You had to be focused, each action meticulous and planned, and having that locus of attention would draw your thoughts away from the circumstances surrounding you. They would wince when you stitched the wounds, small whimpers throwing off your concentration for just a moment, but you would continue, absorbing yourself in the work. We had to be a bit stingy when it came to painkillers due to limited supply, but they managed.

Only afterwards, after you sat back and relaxed, would the helplessness become apparent. The uneven and laboured breaths, stiff and rigid bodies occasionally beckoning for aid, any sort of bravery lost as the pain worsened. Defenceless. Vulnerable. Scared. Broken.

I couldn’t be around for that part, couldn’t bear to care for a patient as a whole. The wound on their arm, the headache, the bruising spreading across their abdomen – I could treat those without a second thought.

Once you recognize them as a person, you see the situation in stunning clarity. They’re so powerless, and why would you want to see anyone so weak? Caplan was an individual, was my teammate, so much more than a bullet tearing through a femoral artery, and why would I want to see anyone so exposed? Why would anybody?

“Vanessa, there are alternative options,” Barnett’s voice rang to my left, pulling me from my thoughts. I stopped, turning towards the sound, met with the bright glow of the algae by the lake.

Felix, Kimball, and Barnett stood huddled, Kimball’s helmet held loosely in her hand, clearly in the middle of an important conversation. Her foot tapped impatiently, a loud sigh escaping her lips.

 _They’re talking about her,_ and I nearly doubled over, another surge of pain seizing my gut.

“I’m aware,” Kimball replied, an audible graveness telling me to get the _hell_ out of there.

“Then tell me why you’re even proposing this?” The gun shifted uncomfortably in his grip, held up in front of him like a shield. I’d never seen him look so childlike, cowering behind a rifle.

Against my better judgment, I approached them, the argument growing in volume.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” She asked, a paralyzing venom in her words, a threat lying just underneath the surface.

Barnett grunted, shifting his grasp again.

“Permission granted.”

“Take a goddamn look around!” She said, exasperation showing despite an effort to stay composed. “Look at us! We can’t win a war, we can barely run practice drills, and we just lost another one of our best soldiers. On a stealth mission!”  

“Vanessa,” Felix said, “we got our intel.”

“And we lost Ash,” she countered.

I froze mid step, watching the way her shoulders sagged at the grim reminder. _Got what we came for and lost in the process. Pyrrhic._

She was surprisingly calm for someone talking about the death of a friend, exhaling deeply as she turned back to Barnett.

“You need to listen,” she pleaded. “We can’t do this on our own.”

 “Captain,” Barnett warned, looming over her as he stepped forward.

“You need to listen,” she repeated. “We can’t win.”

Barnett ripped off his helmet, teeth bared in a terrifying snarl. I jumped, and his glare shifted from Kimball to me, grotesque expression worsening, if it was even possible.

“Amy?” he said, harsh as the taut lines on his face.

“Sir,” I stuttered out. The trio watched me, Kimball cocking her head as her narrow eyes surveyed me.

“What is it?” he questioned. His eyes softened slightly, and my heartbeat slowed a bit as he stepped away from Kimball.

“Well,” I paused, inhaling sharply, “this sounded like a fairly serious decision, and I know, I know it’s not my place, but I was hoping,” _in and out_ , “that I could inquire as to the subject?”

I shrunk under their gaze, fingers fidgeting on the barrel of my magnum. I looked to Felix for some kind of aid, but he was detached and unreadable, gaze trained firmly on Kimball.

Barnett furrowed his brows, tilting his chin upwards.

“No, kid, you can’t,” he stated, an air of superiority settling as he turned back to Kimball.

 _Kid. Right._ I sighed, shoulders slumping. Spinning on my heel, I began to walk, mentally mapping out the path back towards the barracks.

“Wait, no.”

Suddenly, a hand landed on my shoulder and whirled me around, guiding me back towards the discussion.

“She’s one of them,” Kimball continued, glancing down at me. “One of _your_ soldiers, fighting for the planet just as much as you. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I responded, stomach lurching uncomfortably as she looked at me so earnestly. Her eyes were not crazed, but wide with sincerity, brows raised expectantly.

“Younger than most,” _you have no idea,_ “but she’s out on the front lines, same as I was today.” _Not exactly._ “Amy, do you think we have a shot?”

The question was so simple, because would I even be here if I didn’t? Of course I did, of course, so why did I feel like I was about to throw up?

Eloquent as ever, I managed a gentle “What?”

“Do you think we can win this war?” Barnett asked, no doubt picturing my expression under the helmet. Out of the three of them, he was the only one that knew, the only one that imagined chubby cheeks, blemishes dotted across my forehead, eyes just a little brighter than the others.

Well, at least, that’s what he would have imagined if I looked the same age I did when I arrived. Surely my cheeks were no longer as hollow, skin less oily, eyes no longer holding that same sparkle. But I was still young. Still so very naïve in the general’s eyes, and the way he smiled, a slight, close-lipped grin, he thought I would be on his side. That I would agree with him, out of some blind sense of hope and trust.

At first, I considered saying no just to spite him – to wipe the condescending and frustratingly presumptuous smirk off his face. Or maybe I wanted to say it because I was tired and pissed off and someone else’s blood still stained my armor.

But after a few more moments of thought, forgetting Kimball sincerity and Barnett’s arrogant grin, ‘no’ really did hold truth to it. We couldn’t win, Kimball was right. And the general’s hideous expression from earlier reminded me that he definitely wasn’t going to admit it.

Guess it would have to be me.

“No.” It was clear, crisp, so matter-of-fact that Felix’s head shot up in confusion.

“No?” Barnett asked, scowling.

“Not alone,” I corrected. “We, well, we’re doing the best that we can. _You_ are doing the best that you can,” I said, gesturing towards him, “but, Kimball is right. It’s not enough. We need help.”

I peeked up at her, met with pursed lips and an approving nod. There was no smugness on her face, no excited pride, and my respect for her grew exponentially. She was a soldier, incredibly perceptive and aware, questioning authority solely out of a desire to do the right thing. No praise or recognition required.

She simply turned to Barnett, raising in her chin as she awaited his response.

He had taken another step away, fingers fidgeting anxiously against the trigger as his nose twitched. His stare flitted – a brief look at Felix, back to the ground, to Kimball, and lastly to me. He stared intensely, eyes burning with distrust, and … something else. Something I couldn’t quite place.

Before he could speak, I interjected again.

“Question is, how we would get it?”

Kimball’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on my shoulder, and she looked down at the ground, seemingly out of fuel for her argument. I tried to meet her gaze, to reassure her, but her eyes were fixed at a point on the floor, lost in thought. Finally, Felix contributed.

“We’d have to go off planet. Send a soldier, hope that they convince some other party to intervene.”

Kimball’s grip stiffened again, fingers pressing rhythmically into the shoulder plate of my armor. 

“Which begs the obvious question,” he continued. “Of who?”

“Me,” she answered. Her hand fell from my shoulder, moving to hold her helmet. “It’s my idea, I should implement it.”

There was a silence, a tangible uneasiness surrounding us. Kimball stood tall, shoulders pulled back, incredible posture and grace shining through once again as she raised her head. _She had to have been some sort of performer._

Her teeth gnawed gently at her lip, face betraying her impeccable bravery, but in no way discrediting it. She was valiant, but with the proper amount of fear and hesitance. _Brilliant._

Barnett rolled his shoulders, twitching fingers steadying against the rifle. His eyes darted, lips tightening and loosening erratically, debating himself internally.

Conflict was distinct in his every movement, and perhaps this was the moment I found him impulse driven, too stuck on his pride. He was frantic, but with a final nod it seemed that he trusted himself enough to make a decision.

“No, I’ll go.”

It was our turn to look incredulous, our dropped jaws contrasting greatly with his grim frown.

“You said it yourself, we need to send a soldier,” he said. “And it seems that I’m no general.” He turned to meet Kimball’s stunned gape fully, placing his helmet back on.

“You’ve,” he paused, mouth open but words failing him. He looked at me once more, and I must’ve done something encouraging, because he steeled his shoulders and met Kimball’s gawk head on.

“You’ve been promoted. I’ll leave tomorrow at 0600.”

He saluted her and walked away, leaving the three of us to stand in shock. I kept opening my mouth to speak, but no words would come. _What have we gotten ourselves into?_

After what felt like hours, I moved. Bones cracked loudly as I sat down by the lake’s edge, rifle placed down carefully next to my trembling hand.

Even this late in the day, the algae still reflected the dull sunlight, hints of cerulean and malachite, a few shades of jade reflected across the water’s surface.

Kimball and Felix moved to stand behind me, both admiring the picturesque scene in front of us.

“Huh,” she breathed. She began to laugh, a small giggle developing into raucous, slightly hysterical laughter. At some point, we had joined her, mirth infectious and yet unable to numb to the air’s palpable restlessness. Felix’s dark snickering, my own squeaks and Kimball’s rather frenzied guffaw flooded the empty space, a strange harmony.

Felix was the first to stop, our apprehensive chuckles eventually dissolving into pleasant silence. He was the first to speak, too.

“ _Holy shit.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly moving closer and closer to the Blood Gulch Crew's arrival. A chapter or two, and they should show up.


	6. Chapter 6

I was still in shock, to be honest. Felix seemed to have adjusted quickly, going off to make some calls and inform the other soldiers, and Kimball went off and took up her new role immediately, despite her own confusion and surprise.

And I was just sitting inside Barnett’s office, gaping at the wall opposite me. He was out prepping for the trip, I think, setting up arrangements for the interstellar flight he was taking. I didn’t know that we even had a ship, but we must’ve, the way he was so self-assured. We must’ve, because he was leaving tomorrow. _Tomorrow?_

It seemed like sudden trips and missions were becoming far too routine, but this was entirely different from Felix waiting to tell me about the stealth op. In a matter of seconds, our general – my friend – had relinquished his position and planned an off-planet distress mission, clearly not in his right mind.

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Kimball, because I absolutely did. She was everything I imagined our leader would be, level-headed but ruthless when necessary, brave but rightfully cautious. Certainly more the leader I envisioned than Barnett.

But it was entirely unfair, appointing her without any notice and abandoning us. She couldn’t have been ready, despite her efforts to prove otherwise, and surely he couldn’t make this kind of decision on his own without any forethought.

Possibly the most sensible thing in this whole mess was his agreement in our inability to win. He was the general, the forefront of our army, and though he tried to deny it, he understood how fragile our forces were. Now if he had outright and vehemently refuted it, unrelenting, then I would have thought him foolish. Kimball was right, it was a matter of time before our forces fell. As our general, it’s fitting he acknowledges our weaknesses, our shortcomings, but I almost wish he hadn’t.

Out of all of it, I respected him most for admitting our faults, but it was the most troubling aspect, too.

The computer’s pale blue screen flashed impatiently as it waited for an access code, light reflected on the cool steel walls. The soldiers patrolling hadn’t wanted to let me enter, regardless of whether or not Barnett was actually inside. Only after begging to a new one, Smith, I think his name was, did they finally let me in.

There were several indents in the wall, sharp corners where the metal had nearly split, probably hit by the butt of a gun or an elbow. A couple months ago I couldn’t imagine violence going on in here, unnecessary anger in our own barracks. Barnett’s face flashed in my mind, teeth bared and snarling as he invaded Kimball’s space.

It didn’t seem so ludicrous anymore.

Conversation began outside, too muffled for me to hear.

A number of scratches were engraved on the wall too, tally marks counting something. At first I thought there were only a few, but it seemed the older ones simply weren’t as pronounced, knives or nails not sharp enough to mark the metal properly. They went around the room, so many that I was shocked I hadn’t noticed them before. Grouped in fives, uniform to a point where they may have just been a design on the walls.

Mindlessly, I began to count, _5, 10, 15, 20…_

“3286.”

I froze, the voice low and strained. Barnett came up behind me, a hand on my back directing me to the freshest line, flakes of metal still peeling off of it.

“3286 days, we’ve been fighting this war,” he stated.

I reached out to touch it, gloved fingers gliding along the shallow mark, tiny shavings falling to the floor as I brushed them away.

“Yesterday was the 9 year anniversary, in fact.” His tone was bitter, eyes shuttered as he looked across the walls. “At the end of every day, I add a mark, the same as my predecessors did. Same as Kimball will.”

His hand moved to grip my shoulder, squeezing a moment and then falling away. He walked to the computer, typing as I continued to stare at the mark. _3286._

“What if the building were to blow up?”

“Then no one would ever know,” he said, fingers typing away. “A couple decades down the line, the textbooks will give you some random number, generated to look like the Feds were efficient in ‘maintaining order’.” His voice grew strident, taps against the keyboard more insistent as he spoke. “But we’ve been counting, and even if it dies with us,” a deep breath, “we’ll know.”

Slowly, I turned, either ready to reply or leave; I don’t remember. But again, I froze.

He was hunched in front of the screen, silent tears sliding down his cheeks. His fingers twitched, hands shaking as he typed, and my throat felt tight.

Another few keystrokes, and suddenly his fist slammed into the keys, a choked sob escaping his mouth.

“Do you know why I wait until the end of the day?” He said, wobbly as he brought the closed fist to his chest. “Why I wait until the end of the day to make those tallies?”

I couldn’t move; I couldn’t even speak, because this was far, far worse than his anger. This was anguish, and fear, and unadulterated pain in every movement and syllable escaping his mouth. He didn’t move from his position in front of the computer, didn’t turn to face me, but I could still see the tears streaming down his face, cascading down to hit the floor with undignified ‘plop’s.

“Every morning, when I walk into this damn office, I look at these fucking marks and hope that I won’t have to make another one. That today will be the day.”

My face was warm and wet, and I guess I had begun crying too. He shook, fist pressing further into his chest as he huffed for air, the other hand bracing itself against the keyboard.

“And it never fucking is.” He said quietly, thousands of emotions flooding his voice in that single sentence.

I wanted to move towards him, to console, but I didn’t know what to do, where to even start, because how would I know what this feels like? To try again and again and again and again and again. To lose lives and friends and hope? How would I know what it’s like to count the days spent waiting to get out of this mess but it doesn’t come? And maybe, somewhere you think it never will?

“It was at 2373 when I started.” He sat on the ground now, posture lax in defeat. “And now we’re here.”

I watched him, straining to find my voice as he pressed his head back into the wall, lips set in a grim line.

“And the worst part of it is,” he took in a shuddering breath, “we aren’t any closer.”

“No.” The word had come out of its own volition, and then I was balancing on my heels in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders too tightly. Disbelief and indignation and grief and god knows what else welled up just underneath the surface; I had to make him see. “You can’t say that, we – ”

“Aren’t,” he interrupted. “We aren’t, Brianne.”

I collapsed, inside and out, falling to my knees and dropping my head. _Brianne._ My name echoed, parents and friends voices calling out to me, glimpses of faces I had nearly forgotten. And there were so many who never knew it, Esmond, Ash, _Ash._

“That’s not fair,” I forced out, clipped and hard as I met his infuriatingly defeated expression.

“Life’s not fair, kid. I tried to lead an army and I’m running it into the ground, my best soldiers are dropping like flies, and I’m leaving tomorrow because my own goddamn temper got the best of me.”

The worst kind of smile hung on his face, contorted and warped from a toothy grin to a grimace, self-loathing bursting from every line that this war etched into his skin.

“You don’t have to leave,” I tried to keep my voice level, to keep enough logic for the both of us. He shook his head, tears beginning to subside.

“Yes, I do.”

“Not right away,” I reasoned, head pounding as my eyes stung with tears I could barely suppress.

He softened for a moment, fist unclenching and flattening against his chest. He tapped a steady rhythm over his heart and closed his eyes, a strange sort of contentment settling across his tired features.

“No, but I should,” his breathing seemed to slow, shallow inhales decreasing to the speed of the beat against his chest. “I could wait, and ruin things more, and say goodbye. But that’s not what everyone needs, and it’s certainly not what I want.”

_What you want?_

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I sounded so broken, and I hated it, but if that meant what I thought it meant then he couldn’t do that he couldn’t it wasn’t fair he –

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” and his hands came up to cradle his head, breathing quickening once more. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t take it.”

I stepped away from him, every movement tense and painful as I stared at this – this husk of a man. This broken, shattered excuse for a general.

“We can’t win,” _stop talking goddamnit,_ “and I can’t be here for it anymore. I can’t make those tallies. I – “ He paused, looking to meet my visor again, and then he flinched, eyes squinting shut as his head pressed into the wall. “I have to leave, because I don’t want to be here anymore.”

And I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream and maim and punch the fucking wall, tear the whole fucking building apart. _How dare you, how dare you leave us all behind because you aren’t strong enough, because you can’t fucking bare it. You’re supposed to lead us – to believe in us! This isn’t about you, you selfish piece of shit! This is about Esmond and Rowland and Heart and Lex and Caplan and Smith and Kimball and Felix and me!_

And me.

It hit me like a ton of bricks, the air leaving my chest in a gasp. All at once, I understood.

I shuddered, and the way my throat burned meant I must’ve said it all out loud. His jaw had dropped, eyes wide as he stared at me. The tears had ceased, but I wished he was still crying, the utter self-loathing and fear resting in painful clarity on his shocked gape.

Defenceless. Vulnerable. Scared. _Broken_.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, vision blurring again. “You’re – you’re only,” I took a deep breath, desperate trying to steady my hands as he stood up. “You’re – we’re all only – “

I broke off, the burning in my throat spreading and intensifying as I sobbed, frozen to the spot. I was holding myself, arms wrapped around tightly and I hated him and myself and this war and everything.

He pulled me into an embrace, slowly, seemingly as not startle me. Strong arms, holding me gently as his chin rested atop my head, tears falling onto my helmet. And we were calm, defenceless and vulnerable and broken together.

He would leave tomorrow, possibly never to return, escaping the life he was given. A life he loathed, that only tore him apart when he tried to mend others, took every inkling of hope that came his way. A life of failing and waiting and watching. A life of tally marks.

Maybe he would search for help, aid us in the least personal way he could. And maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would forget it all. Forget us. Me.

“Only human,” he breathed.

“Frustratingly so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update! Blood Gulch Crew to come soon. Not beta'd so tell me about any mistakes you see.


	7. Chapter 7

There was never an official goodbye between us.

As we stood, my arms had found their way around his waist, squeezing him reassuringly every couple minutes. We held each other for a while, his chin resting on top of my helmet, swaying back and forth ever so slightly in time with the steady beat of his heart. His arms encased me, solid muscles relaxed in his all but smothering grip. It was warm, comfortable, almost enough to erase the enormity of the morrow’s journey.

It was almost enough to feel safe.

The tears had ceased, more out of exhaustion than lack of emotion, because God knows I had more than enough of _that._ Extinguished rage and agonizing fear and the strangest touch of pity mixed with gloom. A dreadful foreboding, an irreparable sense of disjointedness. Everything had fallen apart and was hastily put back together, the lull of a hug and metaphorical duct tape barely holding it all in place. The pieces fit perfectly, and yet the wrong frequency could shatter it again just as easily as the first time. Or the second. Or third.

His thumb brushed circles over my shoulder, sharp inhales dotting his otherwise calm demeanour. The picture of a general in my mind was a stark contrast with the man holding me; he was meant to be cynosural, a genius level intellect complemented by impeccable strength, a strategist, maybe a little too gruff at times. He was supposed to be sensible under pressure, brutal when he had to be, fearful when necessary.

And Barnett, while fulfilling none of my expectations, exceeded them exponentially. I could fault him, and it would be so easy to pretend his reasons were completely unjust and inexcusable. He could be the coward and liar I wanted to paint him as. Selfish and afraid, running away from his problems; he was a deserter. But he was just as much a victim as a villain, and to give up on him would be to give up on me, and Kimball, and all of Chorus.

“I have to go,” he said, apprehension laced in each syllable. “Don’t I?”

“Y’know, I could’ve sworn we went over this.” He didn’t laugh, but it would’ve felt forced anyway. Neither of us could snap back that fast, but at least I was lucky enough to have time to cope; he was leaving at tomorrow’s first light.

“Stay.” It was more a request than a command, but I nodded. A hand moved up to cradle my head, fingers tapping rhythmically against the nape of my neck.

“You’ll be alright,” I said, reassuring myself just as much as him. No response.

Another few minutes passed, and he teetered between composed and anxious, fingertips dancing along my shoulder blade and then returning to immobility.

There was a knock from outside, harsh sound reverberating through the steel walls.

He hugged me closer, clutch reminiscent of a child cradling its blanket. His breathing quickened near imperceptibly, the persistent knock repeating as he unraveled more and more by the second. He pressed his forehead against the top of my helmet, and I squeezed him tightly, at a loss of how to comfort a man abandoning his values and his friends.

He responded well to the contact, pressure of his tense forearms lessening. The knocks were now accompanied by exasperated shouts.

I wish I could say he stepped away, that he found the courage somewhere in himself to stand on his own, accepted his choices and executed them with pride, or at least some sort of conviction. But none was to be found as his grip forced the air out of my lungs. Struggling to breathe, there was a final squeeze to his ribcage and I slipped out of his grasp, the panic in his eyes immediately filling me with regret. Holding the air, lip twitching and hands shaking, he was a child. Abandoned and left to face the world alone.

Kimball stepped in, dark circles already forming under her eyes. She spared a glance to me, a courteous smile progressing into feared surprise at the sight of Barnett. A grown man lost and, in his mind, betrayed, by me. As if I had a choice.

I nodded to him, praying he could see my face through the helmet, that he could understand that he was on his own now, and that I could play no part in the journey ahead. I trusted him. I understood him, and I would defend him until my dying breath. He wasn’t held to a different standard than the rest of us, was not denied the right to feel. I hope he understood.

The grimace that now sat on his face was a cold mask, ineffective with current company. We had both seen, and though only I knew the true extent, Kimball was by no means imperceptive. She knew. But, tactful as she was, she would not press. They would part knowledgeable of the other and yet unfamiliar, and I was tasked with being all too much so. Acquainted enough that leaving felt wrong. He was broken, and our shared understanding may have been the only remedy.

Really, I might’ve been overthinking it or placing too much importance on myself. I was a kid, another soldier on the battlefront. But I was not a nameless face to him, and the look in his eye told me I was far more than a soldier singled out by a name or unusual circumstances. I was a friend, somewhere in his mind. And for that, I must’ve meant something. Or maybe I was just a comfort that promised to stay, and now a traitor.

Either way, it was unfair to make me the savior; we knew the other would leave, and it was his choice to go after all. I could not follow.

He strained to maintain the image of strength, of consistency, but his limbs wilted, hands bunched in an uncomfortable knot. This was his doing, and he had no right to appoint me as the salve to his wounded mind. But hadn’t I played the part?

The three of us stood, wordless and motionless, the silence stretching. Kimball’s eyes raked the walls, no sign of recognition of the tallies registering on her face. Her posture remained exemplary, eyes bright with questions and concerns. She, too, would fall. Devolve and wilt, reach the same state of hidden fragility that was only revealed in the worst of times. She would become an echo of the man before her, and I could not spare her the fate.

Social conduct told me to leave, and my own mind begged me to discard this twisted prediction of the future. But the burning desire to comfort and heal was at war with any civilized conditioning I had. If I hadn’t been in here when he returned, would any of this ever have occurred? Would I still be needed? And if no, why was the lurch of stomach battling the warmth in my chest, the skittish need to flee overpowered by the want to stay?

I wasn’t the savior, so why was I compelled to console? Because I had been chosen, even if it wasn’t entirely willfully? No, that couldn’t be it. Moral righteousness? Absolutely not. But here I was, craved and needed and _oh._

Here I was, a balm, barely put together myself, and just as selfish as he. Glad he fell apart, glad he was so vulnerable, all for the overwhelming joy of being needed. We were too similar, but I would argue that I was far worse. He was being torn apart by a war, and I welcomed it. His selfishness staved off further torment, maudlin as it was; mine demanded he suffer to suit my craving for attention.

I had to leave, for both our sakes, but I couldn’t say goodbye.

So, I didn’t. I faced him head on, brought my hand to my temple, and saluted him. His face shifted slightly, unreadable at the gesture. It came across exactly as I meant it, devoid of emotion and purely professional. In no way a reflection of what was, but instead what was supposed to be.

The weight in my gut and the fire in my abdomen did not lessen, but somehow became more bearable as the distance between us grew. I could not save him, I was not the answer, and he would come to see it too, in time.

When the ship left, I was eating breakfast in the mess hall, poking feebly at a poor excuse for food. Nightmares had kept me awake most of the night, and though I had no plan see him off, I felt I should at least be awake. The other patrons had rushed out, waving at the vehicle as it disappeared into the sky. Maybe it was the amiable atmosphere or a barely revived sense of optimism, but despite knowing the state of the man inside, I allowed myself to dance along the edge of the newfound hope sweeping through the base.

Even Felix had gotten caught up in the elation, uncharacteristically chipper when he visited the night before. He described the ship in detail, a sort of story that he told with relish – exaggerated hand movements and the twinge of a grin in his voice. I let him talk, filling the gaps with mindless questions and sounds of affirmation. A weariness had settled in, and by then I was only half-listening. He easily saw through it. Little got by him, but he was too in awe to let my lack of enthusiasm bother him.

The word of the day had been ‘lassitude’, and after that he took the hint.

He had parted with a devious grin, gentle whistling leaving a playful lightheartedness in his wake.

Forcing myself out of bed had been a chore, and breakfast was hardly worth it. I had given up on ‘eating’ maybe a minute after the takeoff, instead making my way to Caplan’s room,internally debating whether or not to go inside. He had dotted the nightmares, choking and slipping in and out of a pained consciousness, and it seemed to be afrighteningly real possibility. I was just outside the infirmary when the roar ripped through the air, piercing my ear drums as I fell to my knees. Inside, machines whirred violently, beeping and attempting to compensate for whatever disturbance had just occurred. I was back on my feet in an instant, running with the quickly forming and frenzied crowd. I had no idea where we were going, I just followed.

A haze of thin grey smoke settled, impaired vision seemingly unimportant as the crowd ran on, a field of tan armor rushing towards an unknown destination. The scent of charred metal and earth snuck its way through the helmet’s filter, and then we were all stopped. Too short to see the commotion, I was fighting my way through the armored mass for a line of sight – for some indication of _what the fuck was going on_.

The smoke’s source was not too far off, perhaps a half mile. I had elbowed my way to the front, and in the face of chaos Kimball stood, speaking hurriedly with other officers. I began moving towards her, ignoring the voices calling out for my vacation of the premises. The panic was glaringly obvious, the set of her shoulders tense and slouched as she commanded we report to our stations. She swept the crowd and called out names, helmeted gaze finally landing on me.

She hadn’t said it, hadn’t needed to. Her face was concealed, but it was written in her stance and her stride, the off tone of her voice. Whatever this was, I was involved, and she dearly wished I wasn’t.

She moved her fingers subtly against the helmet’s lining, an indiscernible buzz of sound suddenly emanating from her, just loud enough so that I could hear. Her communications radio was bombarded with various signals, clips cutting each other off mid-message.

“Heavy smoke – “

“The hull is – “

“Everyone to your sta – “

“Oh god – “

Most days, I prided myself on my quick wit, the ability to solve puzzles and recognize patterns, to keep up the rapid-fire banter with Felix. Here and now, it didn’t take a mastermind to piece it together, but maybe if I was duller I wouldn’t have felt like I was about to be sick. It couldn’t be true. But the suspicion, no matter how vehemently my brain denied it, was growing dangerously close to reality.

“It’s the ship. It’s – “

“It’s Barnett’s ship.”

When the ship exploded, I was caught in a whirlwind of movement, and now everything was still. I was clear-headed, now wreathed in the miasma of smoke from the crash. I was calm, harmonious and in tune with whatever normalcy had begun to situate.

Cacophony surrounded us now, screams and sobs, outrage and pain all clashing in a poignant discordance of realization. He was dead, we had failed, and nothing could alleviate the paroxysm of pain blossoming in my stomach, ringing in my ears, seizing my chest.

The right frequency had been hit, and I shattered again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so reds and blues next chapter. I promise.


	8. Chapter 8

The whole idea of heroes is preposterous, right? In the midst of immense turmoil and chaos, this one cure-all underdog will save the day, despite the billion-to-one odds. A cast of characters surrounding them, aiding while snarking up a storm, and everything ends up alright. Happy ending, wrap it up with a bow and tell it as a bedtime story.

But really, it seems like anyone can become a hero these days. Kimball said Ash was a hero, Esmond a hero, Barnett a hero and a visionary. Personal opinions and cynicism aside, perhaps they were all deserving of the title.

But the Reds and Blues?   
No.

Absolutely not.

Not in a million years.

Skeptical from the beginning, when Felix set off to return them I was just dancing around hope again. Low expectations, but wishing – well, no, more like praying that I would be pleasantly surprised. I tried to avoid any semblance of excitement, because that always seemed to have a way of coming back to bite me in the ass, but it was the same sort of contagious jitter floating through the camp a year prior. The newer troops, the ones that had told us the stories of Freelancers and Blood Gulch and AI, they could barely sit still. All too reminiscent of the ship sent to sail the stars, and that went to shit.

This situation had a rougher start though, so it seemed things could only get better. When they arrived, and we had been _eagerly_ waiting for them to arrive, they’d come broken and battered, numbers far fewer than the reinforcements sent out. I’d volunteered, but Kimball had expressly denied my request, with no real explanation. I guess I was too nervous to argue.

 Grif, orange-ish armor matte and dirty with dust and rock fragment, had just been babbling aimlessly as they filed into the cave, filling a silence to distract from something none of the group wanted to consider. The red one, Simmons, had been quiet, holding himself as they walked. Caboose was near cheerful, content to just interject into Grif’s rambling and quickly get hushed. And the teal one was knocked out and tossed over Felix’s shoulder. Felix had been solemn, acknowledging me only slightly as he motioned for me to come along to the infirmary.

Everyone was always in full armor by then for their own safety, Skylar’s lined with a sort of lavender colour as she tended to the turquoise one – Tucker, I learned his name was.

_“I’ll stay with him, if you want to look at the others,” Felix said, looking between the two of us. The three of us sat around the cot, watching the new soldier breathe in and out. His head wound wasn’t nearly as bad as originally thought; Skylar and I had both verified he should be fine upon waking up, but there was still the possibility of a concussion._

_His helmet was still off, thick curls clean from blood now, the newly stitched cut on his cheek a bright pink against his dark skin. Pouty lips parted as he took in deep breaths, gloved fingers twitching gently as he slept. Hardly the image of a super soldier, a gentle, almost child-like expression situated on his relaxed features._

_Skylar watched him intently, helmeted gaze pinned on the incapacitated figure. She was jumpier than usual, leaned in towards the cot and failing to hide her shallow breathing. Maybe the pressure of healing someone so prominent was getting to her, enough that it took her a good 15 seconds before replying to Felix’s offer._

_“You aren’t much of a doctor,” she sighed, carefully standing up with her gaze never leaving Tucker’s face. “Amy, you stay with him, I’ll go.”_

_“You sure?” I asked, watching her steadily._

_“He should be fine. Just in case he wakes up, I think you should stay here,_ okay _?” The last word was stressed, leaving the impression of a command rather than a suggestion. I nodded, moving my chair closer to the patient._

_She moved to the door, sparing one last look at Tucker before exiting the room and walking down the hall. I stood up to watch her leave, pristine armor clashing with the infirmary’s worn and weathered exterior. A couple months prior, we had still been above ground, and the infirmary there had been a painful shade of white, the kind that hurt your eyes to look at if the light was shining right on it. Now underground, in a structure fortified with discoloured metal, it was more like an iron tomb than a hospital. It wasn’t nearly as harsh to look at as the infirmary I had stayed in, and as my eyes traced each crevice and bend, the rusted warmth and blemished pattern, it provided a strange sort of comfort._

_My gaze strayed around a bit more, focusing on the back of Felix’s before eventually making its way back to Tucker. I closed the door and sat back down, assessing him again. The cut would probably still scar, but it would definitely look badass, if that was any consolation. His right fist had clenched, but otherwise he remained the same._

_“What happened?” I asked, tensing as Felix took in a deep breath._

_“Locus,” he said, voice dangerously low. He shifted in his seat, pulling out his knife and tossing it between his hands, a menacing coping mechanism._

_“Oh,” I managed, letting it drop. If Locus was involved, it was probably best not to press. They had fought together in the Great War, reluctant but scarily efficient partners. They were never friends, no, quite the opposite actually, a vehement hatred lasting throughout their service and onward. But now that Locus was on the Feds’ side and Felix with the rebels, it seemed their rivalry had reached its pinnacle. One way or the other, they were going to find out who was the better soldier._

_Full of questions yet decidedly cautious, I let the silent continue on, not wanting to upset him. He’d been gone for a couple months, and as much as I wanted a detailed recount, to see how he was doing, I was mostly just glad to have him back. It had been lonely and stagnant on the base, the prospect of befriending new recruits getting harder and harder. Sure, I’d managed to find a group, full of people just as young and optimistic as I had been, and a few pessimists to balance it out. Wasn’t easy though. It’s hard to make friends when the first thing you think of upon meeting them is their corpse in a field littered with ashes and bullet shells._

_Suddenly, Tucker let out a howl, sitting up and thrashing wildly, his eyes wide open but unseeing as he stared ahead blankly. Felix was already up, knife poised to throw at Tucker’s jugular._

_“Put the knife down,” I hissed as I quickly stood, wincing as a wayward fist caught me in the gut._

_“He’s unstable,” Felix replied, maliciousness gone as he slipped into soldier mode. He had taken another step back, watching Tucker with his head cocked and a peculiar type of fascination._

_“It’s a night terror,” I diagnosed, moving away from the cot and assessing Tucker’s body for any weapons. I snatched his gun, careful not to disturb him._

_“A what?”_

_“A night terror. A sleep disturbance, sometimes violent. Lasts anywhere from 5 to 45 minutes. He won’t remember it after,” I said, parroting a text I studied months back._

_“What do we do?” Felix sheathed the knife and moved to stand with me, eyes glued to Tucker’s lashing about._

_“Keep him from hurting himself, wait it out,” I said in a rush, the words spilling out of my mouth without a thought. I moved to the shelves, starting to put anything sharp and potentially dangerous away. “Go find Skylar, or another doctor. Quick,” I added, hearing the order being fulfilled behind me as the door shut. My hands shook as I locked the cupboards, working frantically in fear of Tucker becoming an unseen threat. Finishing up and doing a quick 180, I would have save sighed in relief if not for the sight before me._

_His face was contorted, brow furrowed and eyes pinched shut in a painful sob, fingers splayed and shaking as he shuddered and rocked back and forth._

_The shout was now a quiet murmur, increasing in volume and then hushing again periodically. Constant but indiscernible, I gave up on trying to make it out and focused on keeping him calm._

Breathe, just breathe.

_“Tucker?” I said, voice wobbly as I tried to stay composed. Gulping and trying again, I took a step towards him. “Tucker?”_

_He froze, gaze shooting up to meet me and hands curling into fists at his side. His right hand palmed around, grasping at something._

_“It’s alright,” I said. “Everything’s fine. You’re safe. Whatever is happening, it’ll be over soon, okay? Just listen to me. You’re going to be fine.”_

_He didn’t move, the light sheen of sweat on his forehead glistening in the dull light from the opening overhead._

_“You’re okay, Tucker. Okay? You’re safe here.”_

_He mumbled something, chin tucking into his chest._

_Shouts began in the hallway, hysterical and familiar but unintelligible at this distance._

_Tucker’s right hand continued to reach at his side, the mumbling becoming louder with each repetition. The hall’s barks grew too, more distinct and frantic as they got closer. Footsteps pattering against the metal floors as someone ran, and I moved to the door, gaze steady on Tucker._

_It was Felix’s voice, battling with Tucker’s growing murmurs. Another couple seconds, and then both were clear._

_“The_ sword _! He still has the sword!” “Wash, no,_ no _!”_

_I turned away to open the door as he screeched, turning back in a second, but not quick enough to move out of the way. Something glowing in his hand, Tucker was then standing over me, and I was curled on the ground. What was going –_

_It hit, pain exploding violently in my side as I realized what had happened. A guttural cry tore from my throat, the slash at my waist searing and scarlet pooling on the floor. The pierced armor was smoking as I stretched, reeling back from the burning sensation spreading from my the wound._

_Figures filed in the room, separating Tucker from the glowing sword and restraining him, another two kneeling over me. I whimpered again, Tucker’s agonized cries nearly as torturous as the sting encompassing my lower half. Unbridled, unforgiving._

_The crimson seemed to seep through the plates of metal, staining as they went. Iron coursing through my veins tainting the iron stabilizing the compound. Poetic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I just got caught up with schoolwork and everything that before I knew it a month had passed and I hadn't updated and now here we are. I wrote two chapters today, so the next one should be up tomorrow or the day after. Again, sincerest apologies. Hope you like it! Will have actual interaction with crew in next chap.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This was really long. Like twice as long as these usually are. I just couldn't decide where to split it. Actual Tucker interaction! And the others, but its not one-on-one. Anyway, enjoy!

I didn't see Tucker wake up, but I’m told he was pissed, at us and himself. And confused, more than anything else. We’d left people behind in that canyon, and we were all far too acquainted with that kind of hurt. Leaving a corpse behind was one thing, but a living person – with a psyche and memories and a physical body that could easily be tampered with and warped beyond recognition – well, it didn’t bode too well. I suppose due to our less than stellar circumstances, there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Leading Felix to yell at him.

_It’s war, Tucker, not everyone makes it back._

I’d heard the speech too, when the camp’s sallow state after Barnett left drug on too long. _There’s always acceptable losses_ – a paradox if I ever heard one – _and collateral damage, and good people are lost for the greater good. Good people, good soldiers._

Skylar, sneakier than I would have expected, had eavesdropped on the whole thing. Didn’t take much prodding for her to relay everything to me, but keeping secrets wasn’t something the brutally honest nurse was all too familiar with. I was grateful too, as asking Felix about it had been entirely out of the question.

However, there were a few bits of information he divulged without my asking; he _did_ say that the other three rescued had fallen into old habits quickly; Grif nearly eating the mess hall’s entire supply of food, Simmons berating him, and Caboose oblivious. Tucker arrived while they were arguing and sort of explained the circumstances to him. Kimball had filled in the blanks, but I couldn’t be there for her address either. Doctor’s orders.

Holed up in another room, Skylar chastising me for ending up on a cot again and reprimanding herself for leaving me alone, I later found out that the ones we failed to rescue – Donut, Sarge, Lopez and Washington, _or Wash_ – were under the Feds’ custody. The rescued Reds and Blues would help us, and we would help save their friends. That was the extent of my knowledge.

So they weren’t in the best shape when they arrived, but after they’d been restored to health and had time to adjust, they’d be back to _saving the galaxy_. That’s what Matthews had preached, starry-eyed and reverent as Bitters snorted. Well-founded as his cynicism was, the majority of the mess hall seemed to side with the former. Smith and Jensen were near ecstatic to meet them, Palomo just as excited but trying, and failing, to hide it. Caplan was the only one who shared Bitters’ sentiment with the same fervour, but he was at least humouring the rest of them.

And though I’d consider myself just as skeptical as those two, I was letting myself get caught up in the infectious buzz. I even had a bit more insight into the actual state of the Reds and Blues, but as shitty as their situation was, we were just as bad, if not worse. The hope was creeping up despite every instinct telling me to squash it, and it was only to be halted by the sliver of rational I drew upon on occasion.

 _With_ the logic and _without_ the idolization you expect regular guys, average soldiers that got unusually lucky. And even below that, mediocre fighters that got _extremely_ lucky. And for a few days after recovery I entertained that delusion, because Felix was back, and even if he was unwilling to share anything about the mission, it all came second to feeling like there was something stable to go off again.

The others fawned over the new arrivals, begging desperately to talk to them, even to get a glimpse as they traipsed by. Morale was higher than ever in those precious few moments, where even Bitters had a bit of a skip in his step. And Felix was _back_. Maybe things would end up alright, and if the Reds and Blues couldn’t save us, they could at least provide a helping hand.

But no. They fell short of any expectations I had, low as they were. They missed by miles. Hundreds of miles. Light-years.

Not immediately, of course. It took a week or so to abandon all hope and accept that these idiots got by on _incredible_ amounts of sheer dumb luck. They weren’t super soldiers, and all but Grif never claimed to be. It’s safe to say myself and Kimball never held them to that standard, but we expected more than what we got. In the beginning, they gave their best shot at leading, and though my side still ached, I made a point to watch eat training exercise and drill. Kimball had asked Felix to do it, but there were more important things, and it’s not like I could be of assistance elsewhere for a while anyway. They weren’t the best captains, clearly unsure of what to do, but Tucker sure as hell tried.

He’d apologized too, sort of, after someone explained that the soldier sitting in and monitoring each session was the same one he’d maimed with his energy sword. After hearing the way he speaks for a good couple days, any apology was a surprise, and he seemed to genuinely feel bad. I’d waved it off, assuring him it was an accident, trying not to remember the sight of my blood pouring out from the gushing arteries in my side.

The thought of asking about Wash came up, and two or three times the conversation was close enough that I could have mentioned him. But in each memory of unadulterated pain sifting through my gut, there was Tucker’s pleading. Wash would be just as tender a subject as stabbing my side, so I left it alone.

Apologizing and dark circumstances aside, he’d eventually sat down with me, leaving the soldiers unsupervised as they ran laps. Grif and Simmons were too busy arguing to join in, and Caboose, probably unsure or unconcerned of what was going on, didn’t notice his absence.

That was when the Tucker I’d heard about and grown accustomed to over the past couple days made his appearance – vulgar, flirtatious, impulsive, and just the tiniest bit empathetic with all of us. This was the first real, direct conversation we’d had, and I’d observed enough to know exactly where he was going.

I wasn’t interested, for a multitude of reasons. He’s a total dick, only being explicitly kind and sympathetic when he wants to be. That compassion _is_ always underlying, but he covers it well with snark and pick-up-lines. If I just told him he was _at least_ 10 years my senior, he’d lay off, that much I was sure of. But that would introduce a whole new batch of problems – problems I had come too far to unearth over some flirting.

Weirdly, the condescension expected with his teasing was lacking as he spoke. Maybe that was why I indulged in his banter instead of kicking him to the curb.

_“So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing fighting a war?” He asked, head lolling to the side as he turned to look at me._

_I sighed, watching the troops. Jensen was bent over, one hand on her knee as she shooed Smith away with the other._ Asthma or spit? _I pondered. I didn’t bother to look at Tucker as I responded. “You’ve never even seen my face.”_

_“Yeah, but you sound pretty. I’m really good at sensing things about people, y’know.”_

_“Sure, sure,” I murmured, watching Grif pull out another chocolate bar from God knows where._

_“What the like, what they don’t. In a variety of settings.”_

_He jumped back as I made a gagging noise, lurching forward and then turning to him pointedly. Stance defensive and then upset, he crossed his arms._

_“That’s just rude,” he huffed._

_I laughed at that, not the quick kind of bark, but a joyous cackling, completely unattractive sounding. Partially on purpose, and the other a bit glad to have something to laugh at. Felix was a little too serious these days._

_I could almost see the pout under his helmet, imagining it slowly devolve into a content smile as he joined in on the tail-end of my laughter. It only spurred mine on further, and then my side interjected. I doubled over, applying pressure futilely. It took him a couple seconds to realize that I was in pain, and his hand was on my shoulder, hesitant._

_“Whoa, whoa, you okay?”_

_“Yeah, it’s just the wound.” He withdrew, looking like he was about to apologize again before I laid a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I’m fine, the pain’s already passed.” It’ hadn’t, but then again it hadn’t gotten any worse in the time it took to say that, so it was_ practically _the truth. I threw up some jazz hands and flourished them in a circular motion, internally relieved as he let out a small snort._

_We turned back to the group again, runners enthusiasm starting to fade as their strides grew shorter, synchronized breaths nearly audible from this distance._

_“So, what_ is _a pretty girl like you doing fighting a war?”_

_“I’m gonna shoot you if you keep this up,” I warned, only half-joking._

_“Bow chicka bow wow,” he muttered, quickly retracting the statement as I reached for my magnum._

_“What’s a,” he paused, clicking his tongue, “competent soldier like yourself doing watching training exercises?”_

_“Making sure there’s some actual progress. And that you guys actually do some captain-ing.”_

_“How’re we doing?” There was some actual interest and the slightest bit of fear lacing the question, the response quick enough that he failed in making it seem casual. Enough worry in it to show that he cared more than he let on. About us, about his role as leader, it didn’t matter._ He cares _._

_Rolling my shoulders and surveying the group again, I turned to look at him._

_“Honest answer?”_

_He nodded, posture tensing near imperceptibly._

_“Well,” I paused, trying to be gentle. “There’s improvement. From both you and the lieutenants. But you’re all over the place, the four of you aren’t sure what to do, you’re not communicating, following plans or staying calm under pressure.”_ Screw being gentle. “ _Frankly, you go out onto a battlefield and you’ll get yourselves and your teams killed.”_

_“Don’t hold back,” he hissed, sarcasm doing nothing to cover the defensive anger sprouting up._

_“You wanted honest,” I replied, seeing Palomo stop and wave._

_“Shouldn’t you try to be encouraging?” Hostility radiated off of him, his hand looming over the handle of his energy sword. I scooted subconsciously, bringing my arms closer to my body._

_“Holding your hand and babying you isn’t going to help,” I reason, waving back amiably, more to assure myself than him that everything was fine. “And I know it’s not easy to hear, but you need the truth.” My eyes were fixed on the energy’s swords handle, and I leaned further back. Noticing the movement, he followed my helmeted gaze and moved his hand back swiftly._

_“Sorry, I didn’t mean to – “_

_“It’s fine,” I said, moving back towards him to emphasize the statement._

_Another small bout of silence settled, palpably tense. Palomo and the others had stopped running, probably taking one of Grif’s many scheduled snack breaks. I had yet to report those to Kimball, the blissful environment created providing a rare bit of cheer for them. They definitely had to become less frequent, but reporting them would get them eliminated altogether._

_“Tell Grif that I’m limiting you guys to two snack breaks a day,” I said, watching for Tucker’s response. He nodded, the quiet unsettling coming from him._

_“You guys_ are _improving,” I repeated. A beat, and then he spoke._

_“I do respond better to positive reinforcement.” I laughed, and I vowed that this was the only time I allow his flirting to get the best of me. The others begin to wave again, more frantically as they called for Tucker to return._

_“Duty calls,” I remarked as he stood._

_“Why don’t you come down and help?” He asked. “You seem to be pretty knowledgeable about this whole captain-ing thing.” He extended a hand, and I glanced down at the rest of them._

_Jensen had recovered from her choking –_ asthma attack, definitely – _Smith and Aileen hovering around her in an almost parental manner. Bitters faced away from the group, Palomo seemingly chatting his ear off and wholly ignorant to the clenching and unclenching of Bitters’ fists. Cunningham was enraptured by the heated argument between Whitaker and Suarez, Deleon and Rogers lying in the grass together. Something about seeing them all rounded up and if not happy, content, jolted a scene months and months earlier. A campfire and tired eyes and a lone guitar._ Am I transmitting? Is anyone listening?

_The solemnest kind of smile resting just under the helmet, I suppressed the wave of painful nostalgia fuming up through my lungs. I couldn’t save that group, and I probably wouldn’t save this one. I looked back at Tucker’s outstretched hand, no hesitance daring to come forth as I took it._

_It’s worth the try._

Even if Tucker was hardly captain material, there was a still a sense of honour knowing he thought I could lead. Kimball _had_ considered giving me my own team a while back, when numbers were lower and we’d began moving underground. I’d politely declined, and after deliberation she’d decided it was for the best. Our recruits were young, and at 19, I was around or just below the median age. It’d be hard for them to follow someone who seemed just as immature and inexperienced as them, if not more so. And if those 20-somethings ever found out they were following a 15 year old, I shuddered to imagine the reactions.

Age was just a number in this circumstance though, as over the next week the teams really seemed to come along. I’d like to think it had something to do with the _fantastic_ additional guidance I was providing, but, regardless, they were improving, steadily. It seemed having a familiar face among the inspirational figures made the goals that much more achievable. That, or I was taking too much credit.

They were faster though – _not Ash fast,_ smarter – _hardly Esmond smart_ , more capable – _they had all been capable_. At the very least, they were a bit more battle-ready. The Captains, on the other hand.

Simmons could not communicate with his team, or me for that matter, and it took every polite fibre in my being to not bitch him out for his insecurities. Hardly fair to him, because that man seemed to be woven out of insecurities, intricately threaded through each other and pulled tight into a tangled mess of anxiety, knotting and entwining further at the idea of _women_ , apparently. Still, he was a grown man, and more importantly a Captain, leading an all-female team. He was either going to have to suck it up or resign.

Grif was a determined son of a bitch, I’d give him that. A shame he put all that energy and intelligence towards raiding the mess hall and adamantly declaring _he was orange, not fucking gold,_ but at least there was some hint of potential. Somewhere. Hidden beneath layers of candy wrappers, soda cans and dirty dishes.

Caboose. One part enthusiastic, one part earnest, and eight parts trouble. That being said, as worrying as his mental state was, he was fairly harmless out of range of heavy machinery. Far more concerning was Smith’s unabashed – and entirely genuine – worship and belief in the man. And I really wasn’t looking forward to lecturing him about that.

 Tucker was trying his damnedest to actually succeed, but I unfortunately knew from experience that resolve could only get him so far. After recognizing his limitations and deserting reverence, it was hard to have the same unshakable faith in him that Palomo did. Harder when I had to consider that he may have been working solely to retrieve Wash – and with each shattered yelp of the name repeating in my mind, it seemed more and more likely. But motives aside, he was smarter than he let on, more respectful too, and he definitely knew his way around a sword. _Ick, wish I hadn’t thought of that._

All in all, we were pretty much doomed. They have their moments, sure, the tiniest glimpses of teamwork, maybe even actual skill if you squinted, but it always waded in to the background as soon as they did something spectacularly stupid again. Especially Caboose.

The weirdest part of it was how quickly I came to trust them, in the way that you trusted a baby or a puppy – they didn’t seem physically or mentally capable of hurting you, at least not intentionally. Realistically, Caboose posed the worse threat, but he wouldn’t harbor any malice behind actions. Still had to have that discussion with Smith, though.

When Kimball had requested a report, I’d given one a little to wrought with detail it seemed, as her shoulders slumped uncharacteristically by the end of the retelling. When she asked who was ready for an actual field mission, she was undoubtedly surprised – and perhaps a bit reluctant – to take me up on the idea to send Tucker and his team out. If not for their skills, then maybe for my sake. It was _just_ a stealth mission, and they were just meant to get some information on their friends’ whereabouts, and it felt so goddamn familiar I considered asking Felix to knock me out with the butt of his gun if it meant I could avoid the subject altogether. And if I sounded half as unspeakably terrible as I felt, he might’ve actually done it.

They left at 0800 that morning, and now there was yet another game of Capture the Flag going on, Kimball and myself sitting on the sidelines. It was hard to adjust at first – going from participating in the scenarios to surveying them – but now it was routine. After a while, you get used to Jensen saying her goodbyes, Grif complaining about his team name, and the ridiculous stuttering that passed as Simmons attempts to communicate.

It went to shit fairly quickly, though not nearly as fast as some of the other practice drills. _That could count as improvement_. As disheartening as it was to watch Kimball tear them apart, _again_ , it was also strangely satisfying. I could never bring myself to yell at them the way she does, angry and a tad frazzled. Again, they were like puppies. Grown, swearing, idiotic puppies.

If it helped, there were definite points in this exercise where potential was shown. But that was just it – potential, not results. Grif took control when he had to, but had no grace under pressure. Less could be said of Simmons, and Caboose. _Caboose. He’s still running and screaming._

I had to look away, both avoiding facing the defeat in their sagging postures and keeping myself from laughing. I stood a few paces behind Kimball, flinching pre-emptively as she tore into them in that special way of hers – composed, collected, ire and vexation simmering just underneath the surface.

“What is the point of these training exercises if you people aren’t going to work together?” She said, and I unconsciously took a step towards her. She sounded strained, and there was either more anger than I was used to, or she wasn’t bothering to keep it veiled. Either way, it really wouldn’t help morale if she went and killed our new hopes.

“But we did! We had team names and everything!” Simmons responded, high-pitched. It sounded more like a plea than a retort, but at least he was _talking_ to Kimball.

Caboose said something that pissed Grif off, Kimball sighed, called for a debriefing, the usual.

“Amy, anything you’d like to add?” Kimball asked. Now she just sounded tired, which was probably better than ready to murder Grif with her bare hands.

I stepped forward, stomach flipping as I spoke to them. Still not a leader, still not good with public-speaking, if the lieutenants could just please turn away for a moment, thank you.

“Caboose?” and I fought the urge to both sigh and laugh at his response of ‘Yes Captain Am-ee’. He always sounded out the ‘e’ noise. “You have to stay quieter, okay? I know you’re taking care of any threats before they can get us, but it’s a stealth exercise. You have to stay stealthy.”

He nodded, shrinking in on himself the tiniest bit. _I refuse to feel bad about this. That was putting it nicely – more than nicely, like I was talking to a three year old. Why do you have to look like a kicked puppy? Do you even know what stealth means?_

“Simmons,” I continued, exhaling as he visibly tensed. “You made good time with the doors, see if you can speed it up anymore. And,” I lowered my voice, hoping only those in the immediate vicinity could hear, “you’ve got to figure out how to talk to your team. Imagine them as guys, do whatever, but communication is _essential_.” I stressed the last word, but it was impossible to tell if anything was getting through to him; he was too rigid to show any signs of recognition. _Poor guy._

“Now Grif,” and I really didn’t feel bad for him, the potential-ridden bastard. “It doesn’t matter what colour your team is. Stop,” I said as he started to interject. “I’ve heard it already, and I don’t care. That being said, you had it for a second there. Don’t let fear cloud your judgement, because you were actually leading, and you lost it because you got scared. You can do better.”

He nodded, the smallest trace of that determination showing. He responded better to praise than belittlement, willing to hear the facts as long as there was a bright side. With no snappy comment in tow, I think he was beginning to respect me on some level. Perhaps begrudgingly.

“Address your lieutenants,” Kimball repeated, turning away and motioning for me to follow.

“Whoa, and what the hell are we supposed to say?” Grif asked, accusatory. “Hey guys,” he boomed, voice a low imitation of his own. “Sorry you still suck, turns out we suck too! At least we have something in _common_!” He bit out the last word, a venom in his tone that sounded dark and twisted coming from him; it had no place in that adenoidal voice’s repertoire of bickering and deadpan sarcasm. The antagonism was understandable, if a bit unwarranted, but the malicious tone made my stomach lurch.

Kimball rounded on him, invading his personal space in a very un-Kimball like fashion.

“Tell them,” she said through clenched teeth, “What they need to hear. Tell them that they can do this, and that next time, they will be better.” It was measured, calming as the sentence progressed. If it weren’t for the hostile proximity, nothing would be out of the ordinary. Shroud it though she might, Kimball was losing her patience, and if _Kimball_ was losing her patience, things were dire indeed.

The message wasn’t exactly motivational either, because those really did sound like empty promises. Simmons seemed to be along the same train of thought as he questioned.

“So you want us to lie to them?”

“No. I don’t.” She departed this time, turning and leaving me with the clowns. I would’ve tagged along had it not been for the resignation in her voice, solemn in a manner I’d rather not deal with.

“You wanted to talk to us, sirs?” Jensen said, signature lisp less prominent than usual. Smith and Bitters stood around her, and there was a certain dejection about them that made it feel like the temperature had dropped a couple degrees. They were good friends, part of a select few that had managed to stay alive. She, Smith and Matthews had possessed an unflinching optimism when it came to these three, and it was hard to watch when even Jensen was starting to lose faith.

Grif sighed, aggression absent for the moment. “I hope Tucker has it better than this.”

For all of our sakes, I hoped the same. Losing him would ruin the camp, and though he wasn’t much of a leader, he held the other three together, if not by force of pure snark and exasperation. I’d miss him too, but I’d blame myself more than anything else. I recommended him for the field mission, and despite knowing the familiar scenario frighteningly well, I’d gave them the go ahead. He had Felix to watch him though.

Really, I should be more concerned for Palomo. If he came back unscathed today, with the way Tucker’s been hounding on him, I’d consider it a feat worth drinking too. Not that I drank yet, but I knew where the stash was.

I examined the cave walls, stone and dirt arching overhead. It was only midday, and outside, the sky was probably clear, specks of horizon long disappeared as evening slowly approached. No clouds, air dry at the lack of rainfall, but I bet it still smelled like petrichor. _I’ll ask Felix when he gets back._

The radio burst to life, frequencies suddenly going haywire and interrupting Grif’s speech. Panicked snippets of reports blended together into static, only assaulting my eardrums more intensely as it grew in volume. Sighing, I turned off the comm, looking to the rest of the group.

There was little speculation around it. Tucker’s mission had gone to shit.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so please, any criticism would be great! I just really wanted to explore the Blood Gulch crew and some choice mercs and rebels interacting with a kid. Again, comments would be great!


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